


AVARITIA

by animatedrapture



Category: Haikyuu!!, haikyuu
Genre: Abuse, Amputation, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Coercion, Dacryphilia, Decapitation, Degradation, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Fear Play, Gen, Gore, Graphic Description of Corpses, Humiliation, Impact Play, Manipulation, NSFW, Necrophilia, Porn With Plot, Rape, Slut Shaming, Snuff, Yandere, slight exhibitionism, slight voyuerism, toxic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:35:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28675299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animatedrapture/pseuds/animatedrapture
Summary: Suna loves his bunny so much that he kept her pretty little head, you could only wish it was you.
Relationships: Suna Rintarou & Reader, Suna Rintarou x Reader - Relationship, Suna Rintarou/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 45





	AVARITIA

_You should’ve known. Everyone should; when something seems too good to be true, that’s because it is. Did you really not know any better?_

The music was blaring—deafening to your sensitive ears from your inebriation. You hear gossips all around you, they laugh about the serial killer on the loose. They say, a girl’s been missing for months, rumor has it her own boyfriend killed her. They laugh some more, “That doesn’t sound believable, does it?”

“Well, some even say she was decapitated, it all sounds like absolute bullshit to me,” a cheery voice answers, giggling.

“They just probably want a stop to the parties coming on so often,” the blonde nods, her lips lingering on the red cup full of booze with a roll of her eyes.

You walk past them, ignoring the cold feeling that spreads over your chest, goosebumps slightly rising across your skin. You shrug it off. It’s just the cold, you should’ve brought your jacket. The second floor is less crowded than the kitchen, your steps are slowly calculated yet woozy all the same, so your gaze remains trained on the ground, making sure you avoid anything that can cause you to stumble. There are far too many people here tonight for you to embarrass yourself, you decide.

You reach the top of the stairs successfully and you breathe out a sigh of relief, your eyes leaving the floor to look up, you almost wished you didn’t.

You also wished it was only the way you looked up so abruptly, blood rushing to your head that made you lightheaded, but the green eyes looking back at you is enough to put you in a daze. You straighten your spine in attention, his narrowed eyes observe you like he’s taking you in—something about the way a glint appears in his eyes is enough to make your knees go weak, like one second longer will have you buckling to the ground, crumbling under his stare.

He tilts his head, “You alright?”

You shake your head slightly, “’m just’a bit woozy,” you slur your words, avoiding his gaze.

“Need help comin’ up?” He asks. It makes you wonder curiously enough to look around you and you realize you’re a few steps back down.

“Huh?” you breathe, confused.

He takes this as you not being able to hear him the first time, he chuckles; the sound is enough to knock your heart against your rib cage. “I said, d’ya need help comin’ up?”

You look back at him, then nod.

It’s tantalizing—the way his touch is warm and soft around your wrist, watching your steps as he guides you up the stairs. It feels fleeting, too, like you haven’t gotten enough of it when he lets go of your wrist.

“I’ll be—” You cut him off, you’re scared he’s about to leave you.

“What’s your name?” You blurt out, and the obvious urgency in your voice is enough to make him chuckle, his eyes set on you again with amusement.

“Suna Rintarō, nice to meet you…?” he prods on, asking for your own name so coolly.

You tell him your name—but you follow with telling him to call you by your first name, “It’s cool,” you say.

You want to smack yourself, what are you working so hard to sound cool for? It’s so evident, it’s embarrassing. You look away from him, cheeks heating up.

“Well, erm, wanna join me and my friends?” You thought he’d never ask; not with his striking green eyes or upturned nose, not with his pretty face or towering height, most definitely not with his obviously well-defined body—every little thing about him is enough to put your mind into overdrive.

Eagerly, you nod. Just like that, your wrist is in his hands again, warm and soft.

_When something—someone—is too good to be true, that’s because they are; but like any other person, we’d jump at everything good like our lives depended on it._

With his other hand, Suna twists open the mahogany door, revealing a room mostly full of men, a few girls sat next to them or on their laps—immediately, even without having entered the room yet, your senses are already invaded with the smoke trapped inside the dimly lit room, LED lights stuck to the corners of the ceiling being the most source of light inside and the way the smoke absorbs its colors.

Suna hasn’t let go of your wrist yet, and you’re hyper aware of this as he guides your way through the smoke blurring your vision.

You accept that nothing is registering in your head except Suna Rintarō and his skin against yours as you sit on his lap instead of beside him, and it takes him by surprise. You’re thankful when he does nothing but cock an eyebrow, leaning back to the couch in a relaxed posture.

Your own gaze shifts from him to the people around you, people who are just as pretty as he is; your breath catches in your throat. You feel like an intruder.

“See,” you feel his hand on your bare thigh, your dress feeling so short all of a sudden (It’s far from it, but everything feels altered when his skin is on yours.) “That’s Atsumu,” Suna nods over to the blonde sitting opposite of the two of you who doesn’t even look at you, busying himself with his phone as the woman beside him traces her manicured nails across Atsumu’s chest.

“Over there’s ‘Samu,” he points over another man identical to Atsumu, who catches your eye, acknowledging you with a tip of his red cup, “and there’s Akaashi,” Suna moves, leaning further back to nod at the man near the window, blunt in between his lips as he eyes you—the movement causes Suna’s thighs to flex, it’s enough to make you squirm and you hope to god you’re sitting over your dress first before Suna’s pants.

You cross your legs, only to uncross it again, letting out a heavy sigh as you suppress the frustration bubbling inside you. Maybe you shouldn’t have sat on his lap—but that’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? You wanted him to notice you and the way you squirm at his mere stare or his voice reverberating against your own chest.

You know you’re caught when you hear his familiar chuckle again, voice low and amused. His hand on your thigh moves, both hands finding their way to your hips in a bruising grip. You don’t mind the idea of his fingertips bruising your skin. But the action makes your whole body feel hot, your face flushing.

It’s from all the booze you drank earlier, you try to reason—even as you discreetly squirm again, feeling your underwear dampen when you meet his gaze, his eyes look bored but his cocked eyebrow tells you he’s testing you.

Yet your hands find his body, greedily running your hands over his chest. Running your nails over his broad shoulders in a playful scratching manner—you make sure to look back at him while you explore how his body feels against your touch. Taut and hot, your breath hitches and you move frustratedly on his lap again, you’re needy enough to act desperate, your hands running over his torso, moving to cup his face and bring your lips to his.

It’s easy to melt under his kiss, easy to submit to his controlling pace while his fingers bruise your hips in his grip and you grind your fluttering cunt against his flexed thigh.

You moan in his mouth, begging for _more, more, more_. The room feels so much hotter, your dress feels more like ten layers of cloth than a skimpy one. “Please,” you plead into his mouth, your hands running over his body covetously.

One of his hands finds its way to your thighs, sneaking further closer to where you want his touch the most. You can hear a groan from behind you, you’re not sure what it means, though. You’re not sure you care, too drunk on Suna Rintarou.

When you feel the cold air hit your wet cunt upon Suna pushing your panties to the side, you moan almost immediately. You want to pull your hair out with need, want him to touch you everywhere—completely take you if he could.

“Shit, oi Suna, take it somewhere else,” this is what you do hear in your dazed state as his fingers slowly dip into your dripping hole.

You decide you cared very little for your decency when it came to Suna Rintaro’s touches. Suna pulls away from the kiss, he eyes you while you pant breathlessly, his finger slowly slipping out of you in a teasing way. He knows he’s driving you insane, it’s evident with the way he watches your every reaction to him.

His eyes remain on you as he brings his finger to his mouth. You whimper and clench your thighs together, watching his finger covered in your essence in between his lips, tasting you.

You lean over, gripping on a handful of his shirt, mouth latching unto the skin against the pulse on his neck., “Fuck me, please,” you whisper.

Suna easily lifts you with him, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as you cling unto him, letting out an abrupt squeal of surprise. Every step he made closer to the next room made your heart beat faster. You felt territorial, sinking in want.

Your head feels underwater, you don’t notice the way your back is already pressing into a soft mattress until Suna is already on top of you, pinning you down completely, his mouth on yours.

“Want you so bad Rintarou,” you moan into his mouth, you can feel his hard cock straining in his pants. Your hips move at their own accord, grinding against him, and God, you can only imagine the size of his cock right now as you move against him lasciviously.

Your wrists are pinned over your head, but there’s nothing more you want than to undo the fly of his belt and have him fuck you into the mattress with resolve.

So you beg once more; you beg and beg and beg, “Want your cock, please.”

Suna hums like he’s taking note of your desperate state, finally letting go of your wrists to take his cock out of his pants. You stare, gaping at his size and the thought that, _thank god you’re already dripping wet for him_ , your inner thighs sticky with your slick. You don’t think you can wait for him to prep you, pussy aching in need to feel his cock stretching you out. 

He moves your panties to the side next, lining himself up to your drooling cunt, the shaft of his cock collecting your slick. You were about to whine again, tell him to just fuck you already, but as if he knew just what you were thinking, you feel the spongy head of his cock prodding at your entrance, slowly pushing in.

“ _Oh god_ ,” you half sigh, half moan out. Loudly.

“Shit, you’re t _ight_ ,” Suna curses through his teeth. He bottoms out very slowly, pushing into you little by little to let you adjust to his thick cock. His cock stretching you out is enough to have you writhing underneath him, pleasure blooming through you.

It’s euphoric and addictive, the drag of his cock slowly pushing in and out of you, gaining its rhythm with every thrust.

Your moans are wanton and lewd, echoing off the walls of the dim room. You feel Suna take your wrists again, pinning it over your head; you’re in too deep into the feeling of his cock nudging your cervix with every time he bottoms out to notice how he binds your wrists with his belt.

“Ri-Rintarou, harder please.”

Suna doesn’t need to be told twice, the moment he hears you, he’s already rutting into your greedy cunt in an unforgiving pace, his fingers pressing into your hips deeper with every thrust, and you can only imagine the blues and violets blooming into your skin with them.

“ _You’d let me do anything to you, won’t you, you fucking whore_?” he grunts into your ear, he sounds so mean, so degrading. You nod fervently.

Yes, yes, yes. You would. You would if it meant having his body on you, skin against yours, cock stretching you open like he’s molding you only for him to take. 

So you nod, over and over while he moans into your ear and fucks into you until you’re sobbing from the pleasure. Tears springing from your eyes and sobbing until–

“ _Shit, bunny_ ,” he groans, eyes fluttering shut, and it’s enough to put your mind at a pause, cogs turning in your head. He said it, it’s a pet name, but you know it’s not you. _You were no “bunny,” to him_. If anything, you were just like any other whore who came at him in desperation who bounces on their toes at the sight of someone like him.

“Rin-tarou,” you stutter, whining out his name even as you try to ignore how good his cock is filling you up, “stop please.”

His eyelids open as he’s rutting into you, the first thing you notice is the ice-cold gaze he has over you—you almost shiver, almost cower away. He’s looking at you, but you feel like it’s not you, he’s seeing even with his sharp eyes looking back at you.

So, you try to jerk away, even as your walls flutter around his cock, greedily sucking him in. “Suna, sto–”

You don’t get the chance to finish the word. “ _Shut the fuck up_ ,” his voice rings loud and scary, it echoes through the walls. The back of your eyes sting.

“Please sto–” You beg again. Again, again, again; hoping he would.

His hand comes down, slapping you across the cheek enough to make you sob harder. You can hear your ears ringing while he spreads your legs further, spitting into your tensed cunt as he struggles to move inside you.

“This is what whores like you deserve,” he grunts, his hand finding their way around your throat in a tight grip like he truly hates you.

“Say it, say you’re a pathetic slut,” you whine, your head starting to feel light from the lack of oxygen.

“Please,” you choke out, and his hand leaves your throat; you’re almost thankful, but it doesn’t last long when another slap forces your head to face the other side.

“I’m-I’m a,” you choke in sobs between yours words, mind swimming in pleasure even at this state, “p-pathetic slut.”

“You’re such a pretty little thing,” he hums, it makes the skin on your skin rise. “ _Not at all pretty like my bunny though_ ,” he sighs.

His eyes are set on you while you remain trapped under his weight, your wrists still bound by his belt securely. He grabs your jaw, forcefully tilting your head until your eyes fall on the head of the pretty girl on the dark bedside table. She looks like a doll: immaculate and pristine. It’s too bad that’s when you figure out it was no doll or form of art—it’s his _bunny_. 

You want to thrash around—to break away from him and fight, but you’re paralyzed at the sight of the girl looking back at you. Cold dead, preserved, displayed like a _trophy_.

You try to retreat into your head, dissociate from the pleasure that still continues to overwhelm your body as if you wanted this.

_But didn’t you?_ You gave yourself over to him so easily, didn’t you? The mere sight of his pretty eyes throwing you off and melting you under his mercy.

You can’t find refuge even in your own head as you moan out loud while your tears are springing from your eyes, sobbing—sobbing from the pleasure and the fact that you don’t want this anymore. _Please, someone help me._ You scream out in the corner of your head.

You realize no one’s coming to save you when Suna leans over, his hot breath hitting your neck, the hair along your arms rising. “My bunny was so pretty, you know that?” he tells you and you hate the way you can hear every lewd squelch of your cunt with his every thrust. Hate the way you’re dripping and wet still, _just for him._

You’re looking up at him in fear, and for a split moment, he finally sees you again.

“ _Aww, don’t look at me like that_ ,” he laughs mirthlessly. “You wanted this, didn’t you?”

You try to shake your head, sobs slipping out of your mouth, it makes him dig his fingers deeper against the skin of your hip, thrusting particularly hard. You feel like you’re being split apart.

“Don’t fucking lie, you fucking slut,” his one of his hands leave your hips—for a moment you feel like you can breathe again.

The relief is fleeting like you’ve been lied to, you only sob louder in between moans, your body trembles against the sheets, and you hate the pressing feeling against your lower stomach, everything feels like a lie. Your own body is lying to you.

It’s a lie when you clench around him, his thrusts are hard and selfish, all for him like you are. A lie, lie, lie when you’re dripping around him and into the satin red sheets underneath you like it’s supposed to be erotic. A lie, most of all, when you watch him take out a dark knife from under the pillow above you, a lie when it makes you tremble harder, cum harder around his thick cock spearing into you as you ride your high.

There’s a lazy smile splayed upon his lips that makes him even _prettier_.

_Suna Rintarou was truly too good to be true._

Your breathing halts instead of quickens when you watch him bring the knife to your bare thighs, spread open for him and legs wrapped around him, still. You feel like you’re about to be dried off tears when you feel the sting of the knife cutting into your thighs, Suna humming as he stares into the cuts he’s creating, cock twitching inside you.

You yelp at the pain, but Suna only tilts his head as he leers down at you.

“My bunny looked at me just like that little expression of yours just now, looked so betrayed while I cut along her arms—” you try to wriggle out of the binds of his belt around your wrists, and he clicks his tongue, his hand bringing the knife along your wrists, sinking it deep enough to bleed lightly.

The knife keeps moving, it’s dancing all over your body as if you were a stage—a blank canvas to be painted red, blue, violets. He’s slicing down your arms, your dress, your chest, your thighs. You’re dripping in crimson, red like the fire behind your eyes when you first saw him.

“Please—”

“I said shut the fuck up,” he stabs the knife into your right shoulder where it met your arms, making you scream louder, body shaking both in fear and the over-stimulation as he starts brutally thrusting into you again.

“You wanted this, didn’t you?” he grunts. His hand remain wrapped around the handle of the same knife digging down your shoulder, “your hands were all over me like a fucking whore,” he speaks with his voice laced with unparalleled coldness, with genuine hatred.

You try to shake your head, but it only makes him dig the knife deeper into your shoulder, “I said,” he grits out, “You fucking wanted this, didn’t you?”

Finally, you nod like raising a white flag in surrender. You nod, over and over. 

“Say it. Say you wanted this.”

You don’t think you can cry harder, you must’ve looked disgusting. Suna sneers at you, “You’re so weak,” he speaks again, his other hand moving to tilt your head to face his bunny. “She… she kept moaning for me while I fucked her and cut all over her, like a good girl.”

You can’t feel your legs anymore, your right arm hurts all over, the knife still digging mercilessly into you. You don’t know how much more pain and pleasure can morph into one terrifying experience coursing through your veins.

You couldn’t take the way he belittles you, the way you feel so, so small compared to a decapitated head. A person who barely exists anymore, so you do as he says. _You wanted this, didn’t you?_

“I-I wanted this, _wanted you_ ,” you moan weakly, back arching when he snaps his hips forward, hitting the part you want him most, making you moan wantonly in pleasure.

Yet, her pretty face, displayed like a trophy, looked back at you like it’s taunting you. Like it’s telling you she’s better than you, will always be better than you.

“You know what she said when I was cutting her head off?” He grinned. You shake your head, afraid he’d hurt you even more if you don’t answer.

“She said…” He trails off, watching you with a discreet smile as if he’s hiding a secret from you. “ _I love you_ ,” the moment those three words slip out of his mouth, he snaps the knife down, effectively slicing off half your arm. He said it like he’s saying to _you_ tauntingly.

That’s when you thrash from underneath him, chest heaving in rapid breaths. You’re panicking and crying, tears free falling down your cheeks, throat raw and your very scream feels like a knife slicing down your throat.

Suna scoffs from above you, completely unaffected by your thrashing. It’s no use. He’s stronger, a million times stronger than you in more than one sense. Yet, he keeps pushing in and out of you, eyebrows furrowing in concentration. His hand moves from your jaw to your cheek, pushing your face down the mattress and locking your line of sight to the trophy head.

A trophy head of his own one true love. You figure, that’s who Suna Rintarou was, selfish and possessive. It shows in the way he continues to stretch your tight cunt with his thick cock, pleasuring you even as you sob in fear because he doesn’t care about you. He’s fucking you because he wants to, it was never about you.

You’ve never felt more jealous of a dead person. The same one staring blanking back at you, pretty and pristine. She must’ve looked like a goddess amongst mortals, especially beside him.

He killed her out of love. _But what about you?_

As if he knew exactly what you were thinking, you hear him chuckle darkly from above you. His thrusts lose its rhythm but you’re convulsing under him all the same, he leans down, lips meeting the blood trickling down your shoulder and sucking into it.

It feels affectionate, like he’s doing this out of love. Oh how you wished he was—but when the knife snaps down the other side and you feel a sinister grin against your skin as your arm completely tears apart from your body, blood splattering everywhere and it’s red like the sheets underneath you.

You don’t think you can cry any more, especially when another orgasm crashes through you when he pulls the knife away and his thrusts become hurried, your warm walls clenching around him triggering his own orgasm.

He moans as his cock twitches inside you, your belly swelling as his warm cum shoots inside you, filling you up deliciously. Your tongue lolls out, drool spilling from the corner of your mouth as he slowly continues to push his cock in and out of you in pleasing strokes.

Your mind is blanking in fear and pleasure, you don’t register the way he moans out his bunny’s name. Moans out “That’s my good bunny,” so affectionately, voice beautiful and sweet and saccharine—a reminder that you will never be the girl he killed out of love. Your head only full of Suna Rintarou and the way he makes you feel everything.

_Maybe you did want this._

Finally, he pulls away, dick still in you like he wants you to remember fully everything—everything you feel at this moment. Remember the way his cock and his cum filled you and you loved it, remember the head staring back at you while he abused and used your body for his own pleasure.

He’s looking down at you now like he’s pleased with you—like you finally, finally worth his precious time.

You don’t recognize your voice when you hear yourself say, “I want you, Rintarou.”

You know your consciousness is slowly slipping out, eyelids heavy and threatening to drop completely in blissed out pleasure and pain. Suna smiles back at you like he’s proud, you can feel his cock twitching inside you again, “You’d let me do anything to you, won’t you?” he asks again.

_“I’d let you do anything to me,”_ you look up at him wide eyed, gaze full of adoration. You watch him lift the knife from your amputated arm, bringing it to your lips.

“You’re so messy,” he criticizes, eyeing the blood-stained sheets, it creates a heavy feeling in your chest—like you’re disappointed at yourself. He brings the tip of the knife against your lips, “Clean it up.”

Your droopy eyes remain locked with his as you dart your tongue out, licking your own blood dripping from the knife. All you can think about is how much you want him to want you; even as the blade of the knife cuts against your tongue.

All you can feel is the stinging hot tear that rolls over your cheeks when you stare back at him, the knife gliding down from your mouth down to your throat.

He tilts his head again. He’s so pretty even when he’s bloodied, he looks even prettier all bloodied. You wonder if his bunny looked the same.

He smiles at you, it feels genuine and full of want—it’s all you can ask for, hope for—it’s not like he’d ever love you. He looks at you first like he’s drinking you in, the same way he did when he laid his eyes on you.

You feel like you’d been in this bed forever. _Bleeding, hurting, crying for him. All for him._

The tip of the knife teasingly presses down your throat, then you feel his hard cock starting to thrust into you again. You sob, your insides and whole body burning. Everything feels raw and sensitive, he leans over, kissing your tears away as he ruts into you again.

“That’s a good whore,” he praises you. It's the last thing you remember until the knife came digging into your throat, taking you away completely.

Your limp, relaxed body is pliant underneath him, cunt still warm and dripping as if you knew he’d continue using you. This time, Suna is shameless with the way he moans out his bunny’s name as he uses your lifeless body dripping in blood, cum, and your slick.

Suna moves the knife slowly, easily reaching his orgasm again, his hand working slowly cutting through your neck from your throat.

“Shit, fuck—b-bunny,” he moans as his cock twitches inside your corpse still full of his cum and yours, chasing his high while your head tilts in an odd way, your blooding soaking the sheets.

One particularly hard thrust and the knife sliding down the other side of your neck has him painting your walls white all over again, pussy drenched and dripping in cum as if he owned you.

Suna pants, staring down at you, “You’re so pretty,” he finally says, _to you_.

_You’re so pretty with your head cut off._

_You should’ve known Suna Rintarou was too good to be true._


End file.
